Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand (27 page)

“Your clothes are on the chair. The shirt’s torn, but I can give you one to replace it,” he said, pointing to the chair by the table and mirrors. “And your phone’s been ringing.”

I stumbled off the sofa and, blanket wrapped around me, raced for the pile of clothes. They’d been neatly folded, like I’d have expected anything else from Odysseus Grant. My phone was in my jeans pocket. The display showed four missed calls from Gladden over the last two hours. I could feel my heart beating behind my ears when I called him back. He answered on the first ring.

“Detective Gladden? It’s Kitty Norville.”

“Finally,” he said. “I figured you’d be waiting by the phone.”

“I was. Then I fell asleep or something. I’ve been really worn out.” And none of that was a lie, exactly.

“I got your message, but I think your lead must have been a bust, because a couple of hours ago we got an anonymous tip and found Faber’s base of operations. He’s definitely been running poker scams out of there, not to mention what looked like a couple of illegal high-stakes private games. Lots of good stuff for the Gaming Commission to get their claws into.”

“What about Ben? Did you find Ben?”

His sigh told me everything I needed to know. “We didn’t. I have to be honest with you, Ms. Norville. It looks like there was a fight of some kind. Some shots were fired, and there’s blood. Forensics is testing it now, and when we get a copy of Mr. O’Farrell’s medical records we’ll look for a match. In the meantime, the police are searching.”
For a body,
was what he didn’t say.

Gunshots. It didn’t mean anything. Ben was a werewolf, almost invulnerable. Normal bullets would make him bleed a little, yeah, but that was about it. He was okay, he had to be. But where was he?

“Isn’t there anything else you can do?” I said.

“We’re doing everything we can.”

“Ben only wanted to help catch the bad guys.”

Gladden said, “I don’t suppose I have to tell you that if he contacts you, if you hear anything, please let me know?”

“Yeah. Okay.” I switched off the phone. I stared at it for a long time. I even forgot that Grant was still leaning in the doorway.

“If he’s anything like you are, I’m sure he’s fine,” he said.

I chuckled quietly. “He’s better than I am.” And I had no idea where he was. Back to square one.

“I’ll drive you back to your hotel, after you get dressed,” he said, then softly closed the door.

He’d left one of his dress shirts for me to wear in lieu of my shirt that had been shredded. I gave myself a once-over in the mirror. I was a wreck: my hair was a tangled nest, the too-big shirt hung over my jeans and kept slipping off one shoulder, I didn’t have shoes, my face was pale, and my eyes were red. I looked like a woman who’d lost her fiancé in Las Vegas.

And what kind of car did a guy like Odysseus Grant drive? An average car: white four-door, late-model sedan. A car you’d never notice.

The sky was still dark, still night. I hadn’t even reached dawn, though it seemed like a week had passed. For the first time since I’d been in Vegas, the air felt cool. Nice, almost. That would vanish as soon as the sun rose, probably in an hour or so.

During the drive, I tried to figure out how to ask Grant to come with me back to Balthasar’s stage. I wanted to see the place again. Reassure myself that it was real, that I hadn’t imagined it. Try to figure out who the woman was and what had really been going on there. It was all fuzzy.

“Can I ask you something? The lycanthropes, Balthasar’s pack. The woman with the knife, and the altar. They were chanting
Tiamat.
What does it mean?”

“Tiamat was worshipped in ancient Mesopotamia. In the mythology she was one of the original deities who helped create the world. But as often happens in these stories, the children rose up to destroy the parents. They killed Tiamat, and out of her body they created the earth and heaven. According to the true believers, we are all part of Tiamat, and she must be appeased if we want life to go on as it has. According to the stories, she had a band of demons. The Band of Tiamat, they were called, who defended her in the last battle with Marduk.”

“So Balthasar re-created the Band of Tiamat.”

“Or the priestess recruited them to re-create it, to preside over her own cult tucked away where no one would notice.”

“Except for you. You’ve been watching them all along.”

“Yes.”

“But—what does it all
mean?
”

“Tiamat is a goddess of chaos.”

“Is? I thought she died. Her body is heaven and earth, all that jazz.”

“Those stories are metaphors. You know that, yes?”

“I majored in English. I’m all over metaphor. But what does a four-thousand-year-old metaphor have to do with a freaky retro cult in modern Las Vegas?”

He gave me another of those “that’s a silly question” looks. Grim-faced, he watched traffic sliding along the Strip. Even at this hour, there was traffic.

“Chaos is everywhere,” he said. “It would swallow us all, if it could.”

We passed the Hanging Gardens on our way to the Olympus. Police cars, four or five of them, lights flashing, blocked most of the entrance. Investigating gunshots in the theater, no doubt. I felt sorry for the cop who had to write up that report.

We pulled into the drive in front of the entrance of the Olympus. I opened the door and started to thank Grant, when he said, “I didn’t see any sign of your friend in that place. But I’m sure he’s all right.”

I stared at my hands. My bare hands. “I lost my ring. When I shifted, probably. It’s probably still at that temple.” It was almost the last straw. Almost, I wanted to simply curl up under the covers of my bed and never come out again.

“Check your left pocket,” Grant said.

I did. All the way at the bottom, my fingers brushed something metal. Something small. When I pulled it out, I had my engagement ring, safe and sound. A diamond on a white gold band. White gold that looked like silver because Ben thought it was funny. I almost cried.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Everything will work out.” He smiled and glanced in the rearview mirror.

Someone was walking up the sidewalk, scruffy and lanky, looking even worse than I did. But I knew him. I’d know him anywhere.

I could only flash Grant a grin before leaping out of his car and running.

Ben and I stopped with about three paces left between us. Not quite falling-into-his-arms distance. He wore what I last saw him in yesterday morning, but a bloody splotch covered the left side of the shirt. It was mostly dried and crusty now, but it smelled ripe.

I stared. “You’ve been shot.”

He smiled tiredly. “And you should have seen the look on the guy’s face when I didn’t fall down.”

“Oh my God, Ben.” I fell into his arms, bloody shirt and all. His arms closed tightly around me. We stood like that for a long time, resting in each other’s embrace, smelling each other’s scent. I couldn’t guess where he’d been, he gave off such a mixed-up mess of smells, like a gangster movie if you could smell a gangster movie: sweat in a closed, hot room; blood; cigar smoke; booze. Women—other women. Hmm. . .

After a moment he looked at me, his brow furrowed. “You smell like you’ve been running around with a bunch of were-somethings. You smell like you just shifted. Where have you been?”

We must have been looking at each other with exactly the same befuddled expression. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“You first.”

I sighed. “It’s a long story. And you?”

“Same. You know what?”

“What?”

“I hate this town.”

Chapter 18

I
t was true. Something about the adrenaline spike of extreme danger and a near-death experience could give a mega-boost to a person’s sex drive. Ben and I retreated to our hotel room with the intention of cleaning up and changing clothes, and ended up tangled in bed together, enthusiastically reasserting our identities as a mated alpha pair.

It didn’t make the rest of the world go away.

I lay half on top of him, my head pillowed on his chest, clinging to him with arms and legs, catching my breath. He held me close, one hand woven in my hair, the other braced around my hips. I could feel his own heavy breathing against my scalp.

Then he said, “Okay. Tell me again how you ended up smelling like the King of Beasts show and wearing Odysseus Grant’s shirt.”

“That does seem pretty compromising when you put it that way.”

“I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation.”

Well, there was an explanation, at any rate. Lycanthropic sacrifice to an ancient Mesopotamian goddess was off the scale even for my usual explanations. But I explained, in detail this time.

I finished, and after a pause Ben said, “That’s fucked up.”

“Yeah.”

“But nothing happened. Between you and that guy.”

“What do you mean, nothing happened? He wanted to rape me.”

“But. . . never mind.” He settled his arms more firmly around me.

He wasn’t getting out of it that easy. I propped myself on my elbows so I was looking down on him, into his sparkling hazel eyes.

“Are you asking if I
liked
it?”

He smirked. “Clearly you didn’t. Even if he was hot.”

I glared at him. “What about you? What happened to you? And why do you smell like. . . like. . .” It hit me, all those smells, all those women. “Were you in a strip club or something?”

Was that a guilty look in his eyes?

“Actually, it was. . . I guess you’d call it a brothel. That’s where Faber was holding me.”

We did have a lot to talk about, didn’t we? “But nothing happened,” I said. “You didn’t. . . do anything.”

He brushed hair out of my face; his touch tingled on my skin. We lay together, heartbeat to heartbeat. “Nothing happened,” he said. “Do you trust me?”

I could smell him, and the faint trace of otherness I’d sensed on him before was gone. All I smelled on him now was him, the pack, and me.

“Yes,” I said. “I can smell that nothing happened.”

“Me, too.”

I kissed him, happy to have him close to me again. “You’re going to have to stop doing that, running off and getting in trouble and making me worry about you. What the hell happened? Why did those guys kidnap you at all?”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “Well—”

His cell phone rang. He reached for it, and I flopped aside, face into a pillow.

“Yeah? Oh, really? Give us ten minutes.” He shook my shoulder. “That was Evan. He wants us to meet him at the patio bar at the Hanging Gardens. He says we don’t want to miss this.”

“I need a vacation from my vacation,” I said, moaning into the pillow.

“If Evan says this is going to be good, it’s going to be good. Come on, sunshine.” He kissed my shoulder. He was kind of hard to resist, in the end.

So ten minutes later, still looking rather the worse for wear in our disheveled shirts and jeans and mussed hair—like it wouldn’t be obvious we’d been interrupted—we arrived at the patio bar overlooking the front entrance of the Hanging Gardens.

Evan and Brenda had claimed a table with a full view of the hotel drive, including the half a dozen police cars and vans lined up. The flashing blue and red lights were hypnotic. Brenda had her club soda with lime, Evan had a tumbler of whiskey. Wasn’t it a little early in the morning for this? Actually, my brain had been left somewhere behind last night. And it wasn’t tomorrow until the sun rose. I could sure use a drink.

“Thought you’d want to see this,” Evan said, gesturing us to the empty chairs.

We sat, and Brenda pushed a second whiskey to Ben and a margarita to me. Suddenly, she was my best friend. I beamed and took a sip. Maybe everything would turn out all right, after all.

Evan continued. “The police have been swarming the theater for the last hour or so. They found five bodies brutally shot and killed. Including Balthasar.”

My heart skipped a little at that. I’d really wanted to like him. I’d wanted him to be a good guy.

I’d wondered what had happened after Grant spirited me out of there. It had to be a mess. Preoccupied with my own situation, I hadn’t thought about the aftermath and who’d be cleaning it up. I wondered when someone would call me about where I’d been and what I’d been doing.

“Look look look, here it is,” Brenda said, leaning forward.

We looked. A crowd of cops emerged from the hotel. In their midst, they escorted Boris and Sylvia. In handcuffs.

Brenda grinned mightily.

Evan explained. “We used their weapons. Their fingerprints are over everything. We lured them here in time for them to paw the bodies and get blood all over themselves. They’re going
down.
”

Astonished, I let my jaw drop. “But they didn’t—”

Evan put a finger over his lips.
Quiet.
He said, “But they would have. They were certainly after you, weren’t they?”

I couldn’t deny it, and I couldn’t say I wasn’t pleased to see them folded into police cars and driven away. There was a hint of karmic justice in all this.

“Couldn’t happen to a meaner couple,” Ben said, raising his glass in a toast. “Unless it happened to you two.”

“Why, thank you,” Evan said. “And now we can discuss how much you owe me for looking after Kitty and for tipping the cops about Faber’s operation.”

“What?” I said. “You mean you figured it out?”

Ben intervened. “That would be a fine discussion, except I busted out of there before the cops raided the place,” Ben said.

Evan furrowed his brow, skeptical. “What? No.”

“I even got shot,” Ben said, like he was proud of it. “Which I have to say is another advantage of being a werewolf you may not have considered.”

“It’s not an advantage when all my bullets are silver,” Brenda said.

“I still tipped off the cops,” Evan said. “I tell you what. I’ll give you the friends-and-family discount. Twenty percent off.”

Ben said, “
That’s
your friends-and-family discount?”

Brenda murmured, “It’s because he doesn’t have any.”

I stared. This was all so wrong. “You people are insane.”

Brenda just shrugged. Didn’t deny it.